


Fire With Fire

by Udunie



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Ghosts, M/M, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: It was 4 am when they were supposed to meet Bobby’s warlock in front of a little diner. As soon as they got there Sam spotted a faded blue jeep in the parking lot, but before he could point it out, Stiles was already coming out of the building with a bag of curly fries in his hand.Dean did a double take and Sam… Sam had a bad feeling about this.“Hey guys,” Stiles said, hair rumpled and looking like he just threw some clothes on in the dark. “You want to give me the rundown?”Sam could see Dean stiffening beside him, his face going stony as it always did when he was caught off guard or felt betrayed.“You’re the warlock.” It wasn’t really a question.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaughingCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingCat/gifts).



> My undying thanks to the wonderful LC who made this possible by donating to charity and prompting us over at F*CK 2K16 Charity Month! This grew a plot and demanded to be split into two chapters, I hope you don't mind! ^^;;;
> 
> And many thanks to Emma, who helped me get this thing in order! <3
> 
> Aaaaaaaah, this is my first ever crossover fic - and first spn fic - so please don't hate me if I mess up some of the spn lore; I only see the first five or six seasons and it was years ago, so I might be rusty...

For some reason Dean was blasting  _ Abba  _ of all things in the Impala as they sped along the highway on a cold September evening. Sam didn’t know what the sudden shift in mood was about, because his brother had never shown  _ Waterloo  _ tendencies before, but he was used to the whole ‘driver picks the music’ spiel by now.

They almost ignored the beat-up, baby blue jeep pulled over by the side of the road with the hood open. Almost. 

They never picked up hitchhikers, it just wasn’t a thing they did, okay? For one, they knew that there were much more scarier things out there than lame little axe murderers. Things that could easily hide from the naked eye and reveal themselves only when it was way too late. And two, Dean rarely allowed strangers in the car. The Impala was their home as much as any place was.

But Sam wasn’t really surprised when his brother pulled up beside it, because there used to be a beat-up jeep in that exact same color in Bobby’s yard when they were kids. It had been in such a bad shape that the old man let Dean play mechanic on it since he was strong enough to lift a wench. It had been the rustiest, most hazardous playground ever and they’ve both loved it.

It was nostalgic, is what it was.

“You need a hand, kid?” Dean asked as they rolled to a stop beside the jeep and saw the driver. He looked like a college kid, but he was wearing flannel - and not in a hipster way - that was always a plus.

“I need two. Preferably attached to a mechanic,” he said with a huff, face pulled into a sort of adorable grimace.

From the corner of his eye Sam could see Dean grin, and knew that his brother had the exact same thought about the adorableness.

“Well you’re in luck, kid. I happen to be good with cars,” he said, getting out. He pulled the lapels of his jacket up against the wind and peered under the hood. Sam knew it wasn’t good from the expression on his face.

It looked like this may take a while so he got out too, stopping beside the kid.

“Hey, I’m Sam. This is my brother, Dean,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand. He had long fingers and a confident grip. There was some dirt on his fingertips, probably from poking around the engine.

“Hi, I’m Stiles, nice to meet you guys,” he said, brown eyes twinkling as he looked Sam up and down in a way that was hard to miss.

Well.

Sam got a bottle of water from the Impala.

“Here, you got some grime on your hands,” he offered. Stiles held his hand out and Sam poured some on his fingers so he could scrub the worst of it off.

His skin didn’t start to blister or smoke from the holy water. Human then.

Dean watched from in front of the jeep, like he’d been only waiting for the result of the test and closed the hood with a loud thunk.

“I have good news and bad news,” he said, making the kid’s face fall. “As far as I can see, you need a new v-belt, which is easy enough to fix. Unfortunately we don’t have any on us.”

Stiles sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Well, thanks for looking at it anyway. Guess I will have to call a tow or something.”

The next town was about fifty miles away, and Sam wasn’t even sure they had a mechanic.

“Hey, we can give you a ride, and drop you off at the next garage we see,” Sam said, patting his shoulder. He tried not to linger, but Stiles had a nice frame - not too built, but obviously toned.

Dean met his eyes for a second, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. Yeah, they were on the same page.

Stiles grinned, looking between them.

“That would be cool! I’m sure I will find a way to pay you back…”

***

A few weeks after that, Sam had bigger things to worry about than hitchhiker twinks who gave amazing head.

“Damn it,” Dean said with feeling. That about summed it up.

At first, they thought it would be a quick salt and burn - some ghost terrorizing a smaller city in south California. Find the corpse, torch it, rinse and repeat.

Except, the ghost turned out to be the ghost of a witch. Or a witch ghost, with a very much alive and very much populous coven - directed right from the afterlife.

Sometimes, Sam hated the family business.

They barely made it back to their hotel, and only breathed a sigh of relief when they were behind a solid line of salt.

“Damn it,” Dean said again. They weren’t hurt - thankfully - but it had been close. Too close for comfort. And what was worse, the coven now knew about them. It was only a matter of time before they found their hiding place, and if he wanted to be honest, Sam had no idea if they would be able to fight them off.

“We need to call Bobby,” he said. Witches were always bad. They didn’t know enough about them - it always felt like a hit and miss when magic was involved.

Dean nodded, throwing him one of their phones. Sam dialed from memory.

“What is it, you idjits?” Bobby asked immediately, sounding wide awake, despite it being well after midnight.

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam said wincing. “You happen to know anyone in the Los Angeles area who could help us with a few witches?

The man huffed on the end of the line.

“How many is a few?”

Sam licked his lips.

“Um. Thirty… -ish?”

There was a second of silence, with only the sound of the distance cracking between them.

“ _ Balls _ .”

***

Bobby apparently knew a guy. It wasn’t an ideal situation, because - according to him - on that scale you had to fight fire with fire unless you were ready to nuke the whole city.

Dean didn’t want to work with a warlock at all, and Sam was 100% behind that, even though the warlock came with the endorsement of a prominent hunter family. They haven’t yet met a magic user who was not some way corrupted.

Still. They had no choice, and if they wanted to have the advantage of surprise, they had to act quick. There was no way the coven was expecting them so soon after blowing their cover.

It was 4 am when they were supposed to meet Bobby’s warlock in front of a little diner. As soon as they got there Sam spotted a faded blue jeep in the parking lot, but before he could point it out, Stiles was already coming out of the building with a bag of curly fries in his hand.

Dean did a double take and Sam… Sam had a bad feeling about this.

“Hey guys,” Stiles said, hair rumpled and looking like he just threw some clothes on in the dark. “You want to give me the rundown?”

Sam could see Dean stiffening beside him, his face going stony as it always did when he was caught off guard or felt betrayed.

“You’re the warlock.” It wasn’t really a question.

Stiles pulled up a few feet short of them, but didn’t seem too taken aback by the chilly tone.

“Yes, it is I, the great Stilinski,” he said with a little bow. Sam wanted to snort, but he wasn’t sure he should.

“You lied to us,” Dean blurted out, voice a little rougher than usual. The light of a passing car illuminated Stiles’ face for a second, and Sam was a bit surprised by the carefully neutral - cautious - expression he saw there.

“I didn’t. I just didn’t bring it up, especially after I realized who you were… Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re more-or-less good guys, but damn, you’ve made some shitty decisions down the road… And let me tell you, you’re whole ‘Shoot now, ask questions later’ approach to basically anything not human is a bit too rough for me,” Stiles told them with a shrug.

If possible, Dean turned even stonier.

“Hey,  _ hey _ . Okay. Let’s just... Calm down, take a deep breath and continue this conversation on the way to the coven, shall we?” Sam butted in, tired of being the voice of reason, but not about to shoot their only chance at winning in the foot.

It took a second for both Stiles and Dean to nod.

***

“... and anyway, that’s sort of how my home town became a supernatural hub. And let me tell you, we had to improvise a  _ lot _ . So, it’s not like this coven is easy if they are really as bad as you say, but that time with the harpies we had to-”

“You didn’t talk this much last time,” Dean growled, glaring at Stiles in the rearview mirror.

It was almost weird that Sam didn’t even have to turn around to perfectly imagine the bitchy expression on the kid’s face.

“Yeah, well.  _ Last time _ , I had my mouth full,” he said, and seriously. Sam tried to cover his laugh with a cough.

***

By five in the morning they had the beginnings of a plan. All three of them had hexbags around their necks that should make them invisible to whatever protection spells were around the place - an old, abandoned church at the edge of the city, because of course. 

Stiles adamantly called them charms.

“They aren’t  _ charms _ ,” Dean said, and Sam could see his fingers just itching to tear the whole thing from around his neck and throw it as far away as possible. “They are  _ hexbags _ . Full of… of bones, and frog parts and god knows what.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, looking unfairly attractive under the flickering lamplight of the nearby parking lot where they were brain-storming.

“ _ Frog parts _ ? Seriously? I thought you were the Winchesters, not the Whinechesters.”

Sam stepped between them before things could get out of hand.

“Okay. Let’s act like we’re older than four,” he said. He was at least 80% sure that the barbs on Dean’s part were a nasty, vengeful version of pigtail pulling. It wasn’t like he was fine with the fact that Stiles forgot to mention what he was when they last met, but if there was one thing he learned from hunting, it was to trust his instincts. And his instincts were telling him that Stiles wasn’t there to fuck them over.

Dean huffed in annoyance, but nodded, scowling at Stiles’ shit eating grin.

“Alright. So what now, warlock?” His brother asked, making Sam roll his eyes.

Stiles sighed.

“Well, from what you’ve told me, it looks like they have some… link to the ghost. It would help the ghost to be anchored to the world of the living, and it would help the coven to gain otherworldly powers. My best guess is that they’ve somehow consumed her body.”

Dean looked a bit green around the edges, and honestly, Sam wasn’t too far away from throwing up either.

“They ate her?!”

Stiles shrugged.

“Yeah, well, probably not, like, chomped down on the corpse. You said that the ghost had old-timey clothes on?”

Sam nodded. 

“Around late nineteenth century.”

Stiles bit his lip, looking off to the distance for a bit. He looked like he was spacing out, but his fingers were busy, turning a plain ring on his thumb over and over.

Sam met his brother’s gaze, but Dean seemed just as clueless about what was going on.

“Okay,” the boy said suddenly, shaking off whatever stupor he had been in. “Here’s what I think happened; You’ve said that the coven members are around the same age and went to the same high school, like, twenty years ago?”

It was Dean who grunted out a yes this time. Despite whatever hard feelings he harbored, his brother knew when someone was talking business, and it looked like Stiles figured something out.

“Right. So,” he pulled his phone out and started browsing, the brightness of the screen lighting his face up, putting his features in sharp contrast.

“Ha! Look at this!” 

He held the phone out for them to see. It was a site with local news; High school reunion. Two months ago.

“That’s when all the shit started going down,” Dean said with a frown, looking at Sam for confirmation.

“Yup. It took a bit of time for it to get on my radar, but the first reports I found were from around that time.”

Stiles grinned.

“So, these stupid assholes held a seance at their reunion. My best bet is that one of them is either a descendant of the ghost witch, or somehow got under her influence before then. They used the seance to get more members and make the coven more powerful.”

Damn. That sounded like Trouble with a capital T.

“The others possibly didn’t even know what was happening. The ghost’s accomplice probably used the bones to make something… a tea. Or cookies. Maybe a pie?”

“Nope. No. Don’t even go there,” Dean said, holding his hands up like he was about to turn tail and get back to Kansas.

Stiles blinked at him in surprised and shrugged.

“Okay, so maybe not a pie. Anyway. The bones got ground into powder. The powder was fed to the people. The people ended up under the ghost’s influence. End of story.”

That made a scary amount of sense. None of the coven members they could identify looked like they had close ties to supernatural before. No tragedies, no nothing.

“So, how do we stop them?” Sam asked, because that was the real question here.

Stiles hummed under his breath.

“She doesn’t have a body anymore, but something of her must have been left behind. Something tangible. It’s either some of her bones, or a possession important to her. I’m thinking the head of the coven - the first one under her influence - will have it,” he said. He dug around in the bag he brought with himself, pulling out a baseball bat of all things. “It was a smart move of her to have the others consume her body - you can’t burn it that way. But at the same time she spread herself a bit too thin. If we destroy what she has left, it should weaken her enough that I will be able to kick her back to the afterlife for good if the rest of the coven is distracted.”

He looked at them with a raised eyebrow, waiting to see if they were in, because they would obviously have to provide the distraction.

Sam looked at Dean for a long moment. It was a risky plan, but they could pull it off. With a bit of luck.

“Damn it. Alright, let’s get to work,” Dean said, scrubbing at his face.

Stiles grinned, swinging his bat before starting down the road towards the church.

“It’s gonna be awesome!”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t awesome. Or Stiles had very different definitions of awesome than they did.

Witches were everywhere, and the fact that they might be just clueless humans sucked into this mess against their will made them reluctant to use deadly force. That left them with no other choice than to literally beat their way through the coven.

Getting into the church was no big deal. Just like Stiles told them, the hexbags - oh sorry, the  _ charms  _ \- made them invisible for the spells surrounding the place, despite the dozens of runes they saw on their way in. Sam made a note to ask for the recipe later.

He tried to keep an eye on things as they worked, even though it was complete chaos in there. Most of the witches looked like soccer moms and regular, golf-playing dads, but there was a strange, greenish light in their eyes every time they cast a spell that Sam haven’t noticed before, and that sent a shiver down his spine.

Dean - as always - moved fluently and effortlessly. In such close quarters most of the witches had no time to cast, too reliant on their powers to expect to be punched in the face.

Stiles, on the other hand, had different methods. 

From his pocket he pulled out a bunch of small, round pellets, no bigger than one of those hard, old school bubble gums. He threw them in the air one-by-one and used his bat to smack them into the crowd of witches. 

Every time the pellets hit, there was a shout, a cloud of dark green smoke, and a witch ending up knocked to the floor. And they always hit.

Sam didn’t have much time to watch, but he could have sworn that he saw one of the pellets make a curve in the air when the person it was aimed at tried to get to cover.

What the hell.

Fighting themselves through thirty people wasn’t easy, despite the obvious advantage of experience they had, and he lost sight of Stiles, choosing to keep close to his brother instead.

By the time everyone in the church was on the floor they were both sweaty and a bit bloody. There was a cut on Dean’s forehead, sluggishly oozing blood and Sam had a tear on his shirt, where a spell grazed him. Even though it came right at him, front and center.

He suspected that it was somehow Stiles’ doing.

The warlock was nowhere to be seen, and Sam was almost about to ask if his brother seen him, when a woman appeared on the gallery in the front of the building.

“You again!” She shrieked. Dean made a disgusted little noise beside him, because the woman appeared to be wearing a mask. And not just any mask, but the front part of a skull.

Seemed like they found the last of the ghost’s remains.

“Hey there, lady,” Dean said, pulling out his gun. “That’s a nice piece of accessory you’re sporting. Family heirloom?”

She laughed - or more like,  _ cackled _ , seriously, it was kind of cliche. Witches were rarely original.

Instead of answering, she started chanting, opening her arms wide and murmuring words they couldn’t quite catch, but Sam was sure they didn’t really wanted to either.

Dean shrugged and shot her. It should have been an instant kill, but instead the bullet stopped just short of reaching her, a previously invisible, eery green shield lighting up around the witch.

“Damn it,” Dean said, and the next second they had to duck, because the bullet was coming right back at them, smashing into the wall where Dean had been standing.

“What the hell?” his brother asked, as the chanting grew louder. Sam fell on a knocked out coven member, and it took him a moment to get her long, blond hair out of his face.

“I don’t know,” he hissed back. “Where’s Stiles?”

They peeked out from behind the old, flaking benches, and just like he heard them, they spotted their warlock, sneaking up on the witch, with his bat raised high. He seemed unharmed, except for a bloody nose.

As they watched Stiles wiped his face and slowly smeared his blood on the bat. The whole thing lit up like a christmas tree, with spidery, yellowish runes. Sam couldn’t remember them being there before.

Unfortunately the flash of light was enough to grab the witch’s attention, but by the time she spun around, it was too late. Stiles swung at her with full force, her head catching fire the second the bat smashed her mask to pieces. 

“Shit,” Dean said as the burning witch lost her balance and tumbled over the railing of the gallery with a bloodcurdling scream.

She landed with a rather uncathartic thump.

“I told you it will be awesome!” Stiles shouted, his voice echoing of the church walls, making Sam snort. Sure he did.

***

They stumbled into the hotel room when it was already light outside. Somehow it didn’t even occur to any of them to drop Stiles off at his Jeep.

“Oh god, I need to wash up,” Stiles said, he sounded giddy from adrenaline and exhaustion. Sam could sympathize, going so far as to elbow Dean in the side when he tried to object.

Stiles disappeared into the bathroom, and they started undressing, seeing if everything was okay. His side was a bit singed, but other than some redness and a slight sensitivity he appeared to be okay.

Dean was already cleaning the cut on his forehead in front of the little mirror they kept in the first aid kid. Thankfully it wasn’t deep, and he could see his brother hesitating if he should even waste a bandage on it. In the end Sam took one out himself and plastered it on.

“Thanks,” Dean said, making him raise an eyebrow. His brother was uncharacteristically silent. It might have been tiredness, but Sam didn’t think so. Especially not with the way his eyes kept glancing towards the bathroom door.

They rarely worked with others - too many bad experiences. But this time felt different; Stiles didn’t let them down, didn’t ask for things they couldn’t give in return. If they haven’t just killed someone, Sam would have said that it had been sort of fun.

He could feel the left-over excitement still coursing through his veins from it. Hunters - in general - were adrenaline junkies, it was part of the trade. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Stiles looked up on the gallery, covered in blood but not showing a hint of hesitation. He’d been confident and… dangerous.

Shit, Sam was getting hard, and the memory of those clever lips wrapped around his cock was not helping things. 

From the look of things, Dean had similar problems too. Forced proximity - among other things - made Sam familiar with how his brother looked when he was thinking about sex, and that was the exact expression on his face.

Their eyes met just as the bathroom door opened, Stiles stumbling out. His pupils were blown wide, still riding the high from mortal danger.

“Well, it’s not brok- oh,  _ hey…  _ You guys are looking fine,” he said, spotting them just sitting around shirtless.

Sam licked his lips, but before he could do anything, Dean was already up, crossing the distance to Stiles in two long steps and pressing the warlock up against the wall.

Stiles made a little sound of surprise, but it quickly turned into a moan when Dean kissed him.

Damn, that was hot.

He didn’t know what to do for a second, but then just shrugged and walked over, stopping behind his brother, close enough for their bodies to touch and started working on Dean’s jeans.

When they broke apart and Stiles saw what he was doing he whined, head thumping back against the wall.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he said, hands roaming everywhere; long fingers combing through Dean’s hair or squeezing down around Sam’s arm.

Sam grinned, because it looked like they were actually going to do this, and went for Stiles’ pants as soon as his brother’s were on the floor.

Dean started pulling on the boy’s shirt, though it was a bit difficult with the way he couldn’t stop going in for more kisses.

***

Sam couldn’t remember how they ended up on the bed, too horny and dazed to pay attention to the details, all he knew was that he was on his back, and Stiles felt like perfection around him, bouncing on his cock and moaning every time Dean bit down on the long column of his neck.

“Shit, yeah,” he said, grabbing the boy’s hips and helping him along, hips twitching up as they tried to get his cock deeper into that sweet hole.

“I can take more,” Stiles breathed, eyes closed and pink mouth open.

Dean grunted something, that Sam couldn’t hear from the blood thrumming in his ears. Fuck, everything felt so good.

“I  _ want  _ more,” Stiles added, voice sounding rough as he ground his ass down hard enough to take Sam’s breath away.

Dean laughed, breathless, and a second later Sam hissed as he felt a well lubed finger pressing against his cock fucking the boy’s hole.

Shit. Were they going to…

He had to squeeze his eyes closed as Dean wiggled a finger in. Stiles moaned and then whined - high and needy - when he added a second. 

Sam didn’t think they would fit. He already felt like he was dying from the pleasure, and he couldn’t imagine what Stiles must have felt, but to his astonishment Dean managed to cram three of his fingers into him, beside Sam’s considerable girth.

“I’m good, I’m good, so good, come on,” Stiles babbled. Dean looked at Sam over the boy’s shoulder. They never did this before. Sure, there have been…  _ things  _ they did. Fucking the same person right after each-other… jerking off together, but this. This was different.

Sam nodded, stilling Stiles and bracing himself.

He couldn’t breath when Dean pressed his cock right up to his, inching his way inside painfully slow.

Stiles fell forward panting and grunting and scratching at anything he could reach, but he held on. When Dean finally managed to get all the way in it was almost too much. Sam didn’t think he ever felt such incredible tightness around his cock, not to mention the fact that his brother’s hot, hard dick was right in there with his own.

“Fuck… Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck,” Stiles whined, making him gasp out a chuckle. 

“You’re doing so well,” Dean said, and Sam couldn’t tell who it was directed at. Maybe both of them “You two just stay still, and let me…” 

He hissed as he pulled out and then carefully pushed in again, the drag of his cock against his own sweet and excruciating. Stiles must have felt the same way, because he went completely boneless. Sam put his arms around his back, and had to bite his lip when Dean gave him a little grin.

Shit, he never felt so good in his life.

Dean picked up speed quickly, adding a bit more lube. The pleasure building between the three of them was like a tightly curled, red-hot spring, just waiting to break free and unleash all that dormant energy.

Stiles started pressing sharp little bites into his skin, pulling up bruises here-and-there as Dean really started to fuck him, but Sam didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind it all. He reached down, palming the globes of the boy’s ass and squeezing down. It made Dean grin wider.

He looked like he was at the end of his rope too; hair ruffled and brow sweaty. All they needed was a little something…

Sam stretched his arm until his fingers reached Stiles hole, where all three of them were connected, running the tip of his index finger around the tight, sensitive ring stretched to the limit. It made Stiles jerk, his hole twitching and squeezing down around them it a perfect way… and that was it.

Dean cursed, his hips slamming forward just as Sam’s back arched, his release hot and urgent as his cock jerked in the boy’s hole. He could feel his brother’s doing the same.

Stiles moaned, rutting against Sam’s belly until he could feel him going rigid, his come getting their skin wet and sticky.

Fuck.

***

The next morning - or more like afternoon - they woke up alone with Dean. Stiles was long gone, with only a note on the small coffee table.

_ Next time I’m pitching ;D _

“A fucking wink emoji?” Dean said, sounding perplexed and fond at the same time. It made Sam laugh.

Yeah, maybe next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it! :D
> 
> you can find me at udunie.tumblr.com


End file.
